A High Wind in Jamaica

Chp. 16

  Of course if he met and was challenged by a man-ofwar, he would have to give in without a fight. But then, it never pays to fight a man-of-war anyhow. If he is a big one, he sinks you. If he is some little cock-shell of a cutter, commanded by a fire-eating young officer just into his teens, you sink him—and then there is the devil to pay. Better be sunk outright than insult the honor of a great nation in that fashion.

  When he at last remembered to take the hatches off the children, they were half dead with suffocation. It was hot enough, stuffy enough anyhow down there, only the square opening above for ventilation; but with the hatches even loosely in place it was a Black Hole. Emily had at last dropped asleep, and slept late, through a chain of nightmares: when she did wake in the closed hold, she sat up, then fainted immediately, and fell back, her breath coming in loud snores. Before she came to again she was already sobbing miserably. At that the little ones began to cry too: which sound it was that reminded Jonsen, rather late, to take the hatches off.”

  He was quite alarmed when he saw them. It was not till they had been out in the morning freshness of the deck for some time that they even summoned up interest in the strange metamorphosis of the schooner that was in progress.

  Jonsen looked at them with a troubled eye. They had not indeed the appearance of well-cared-for children: though he had not noticed this before. They were dirty to a fault: their clothes torn, and mended, if at all, with twine. Their hair was not only uncombed—there was tar in it. They were mostly thin, and a yellowy-brown color. Only Rachel remained obstinately plump and pink. The scar on Emily’s leg was still a blushing purple: and they all were blotched with insect bites.

  Jonsen called José off his painting job: gave him a bucket of fresh water: the mate’s (the only) comb: and a pair of scissors. José wondered innocently: they did not look to him particularly dirty. But he did his duty, while they were still too sorry for themselves to object actively, to do anything more than sob weakly when he hurt them. Even when he had finished their toilet, of course, he had not reached the point at which a nursemaid usually begins.

  It was noon before the Lizzie Green looked herself—whoever that might be: and a little after noon she was still heading for “Philadelphia” when, hull down on the horizon, two sail were sighted, many miles apart, at about the same minute. Captain Jonsen considered them carefully; made his choice, and altered his course so as to fall in with her as soon as might be.

  Meanwhile, the crew had no more doubt than Otto had of Jonsen’s intention: and the sound of the whetstone floated merrily aft, till each man’s knife had an edge that did its master’s heart good. I have said that the murder of the Dutch captain had affected the whole character of their piracy. The yeast was working.

  Presently the smoke of a large steamer cropped up over the horizon as well. Otto sniffed the breeze. It might hold, or it might not. They were still far from home, and these seas crowded. The whole enterprise looked to him pretty desperate.

  Jonsen was at his usual shuffle-shuffle, nervously biting his nails. Suddenly he turned on Otto and called him below. He was plainly very agitated; his cheeks red, his eye wild. He began by plotting himself meticulously on the chart. Then he growled over his shoulder:

  “Those children, they must go.”

  “Aye,” said Otto. Then, as Jonsen said no more, he added: “You’ll land them at Santa, I take it?”

  “No! They must go now. We may never get to Santa.”

  Otto took a deep breath.

  Jonsen turned on him, blustering:

  “If we get taken with them, where’ll we be, eh?”

  Otto went white, then red, before he answered.